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From: jeanita@cpcug.org (Jeanita)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.startrek
Subject: NEW STORIES: P/Q & P/Q/Lestat ADULT SMBD
Date: 5 Nov 1995 20:06:44 -0500
Organization: Capital PC User Group, Inc., Rockville, Maryland, USA
Lines: 758
Message-ID: <47jn34$kpe@cpcug.org>
NNTP-Posting-Host: cpcug.org
Okay, I think I've got this posting thing down now. If this turns into
gibberish, be patient. I'll go bang my head against a wall, then I'll
try it again. This is the first thing I've posted so all constructive
feedback is welcome.
Paramount owns all. Except for Lestat who belongs to Anne Rice.
P/Q, SMBD
I saw that pretty picture of Patrick Stewart in
_Entertainment Weekly_ (thanks for the heads up, Ruth), and I'd
been thinking nasty thoughts about Picard and Q anyway... hence
these little vignettes. Enjoy.
One Night in the Captain's Quarters
by
Jeanita Danzik
Q lay on Picard's bed, moaning, delirious with sensation.
He hadn't intended to let things go this far; had, in fact,
assumed that omnipotent immortal that he was, he would have no
trouble maintaining the upper hand in this relationship. Picard,
however, was easily proving him wrong--so much so that Q felt
embarrassed for being so weak and vulnerable. That he could be
so easily mastered was simply unacceptable, and the part of
himself that could think at all was planning a singularly
appropriate revenge, which he would execute as soon as Picard let
him up.
Jean-Luc, having discovered the amazing sensitivity of Q's
nipples, sat beside him on the bed, rolling them between his
fingertips. That was all he'd done for the last five minutes or
so--no biting, no pinching, none of the things that spiked Q's
passion into a maddening drive for completion, just this gentle
touch that did not vary, did not stop--and it was beginning to
feel like torture. His entire body was being sensitized by this
simple action, and his penis was rock-hard and ready. Q wanted
Picard to touch him there, but Picard was unconcerned with his
state of arousal.
Q drew a deep breath, let it out again. He would not beg,
but he pumped his hips enticingly, pushing against empty air,
hoping Picard would take the bait.
Nothing.
Q heard his own gasping sighs, and again felt a rush of
humiliation. He brought his right hand up, grasped Picard's
hand, and pulled it down to his genitals, arching his penis
against it.
"Q," Picard's voice was gentle. "Let go, and put your hand
back down on the bed."
Q ignored him, trying to wrap Jean-Luc's fingers around his
erection. Jean-Luc made no move to pull away, but neither did he
move his fingers of his own volition. "Q," he repeated even more
gently than before, "put your hand back on the bed."
"I can't," Q whimpered. His head tossed against the
pillows, and he made soft, helpless sounds high up in his throat.
"Yes you can. Look at me." Jean-Luc's fingers stopped
moving against Q's other nipple, and Q's eyes flew open.
Jean-Luc smiled at him, waiting, and suddenly Q wanted to do
as he'd been told. In a quick, convulsive movement, he slammed
his hand against the bed, clutching at the covers. Jean-Luc made
no move to touch him, however, and Q moaned again, not knowing
which was worse, the torture or its cessation.
Jean-Luc crawled up the bed so they were lying face to face.
He kissed Q's cheek and ran a finger over his eyebrows. "You are
my precious little godling, did you know that?"
Q stared at him suspiciously. Was he being mocked? But no,
Jean-Luc was smiling tenderly, his expression soft, almost eager.
Q did not like it that anyone thought of him as a mere
*godling*, but never once, in all the millennia of his existence
had he ever been called precious. He found himself nodding
hesitantly.
"Say it," Picard urged.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say 'I can't say that. I
won't.' It would undo him to give a piece of himself away, even
to Jean-Luc who was beginning to mean more to him than he'd ever
imagined possible. But looking up into the aquiline features he
made his decision in a sudden yielding of will. He would say it
because... because Jean-Luc desired it of him, and he wanted
Jean-Luc to have what he desired. Whatever he desired.
"I'm..." He hesitated, then blurted it all in a rush. "I'm
your precious little godling."
"Oh, Q," Jean-Luc murmured proudly. "You're so good. So
very good."
Jean-Luc stroked his cheek, but Q shut his eyes. He felt
himself being trained like a prize yearling, slowly and
inexorably surrendering parts of his identity into Jean-Luc's
keeping. He did not want this, could not believe he was allowing
this, and yet something compelled him to submit himself, to revel
in his very helplessness and obedience.
"Love me," he sighed, wanting some buffer against his
vulnerability.
"I can't help but love you." Jean-Luc answered. "I love you
so much it frightens me."
Pride and relief surged through him as Jean-Luc confessed
his feelings. A piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place:
he realized that he could submit so completely because Jean-Luc
was as vulnerable as he was, was just as chained, just as
helpless in the face of Q's surrender. Q felt a momentary
gratitude, but his body was still aching for touch. He pushed
his hips off the bed again, asking for more.
"Please," he whispered.
Jean-Luc moved away. "Turn over on your stomach," he said.
Q did as he was told. The feel of silk sheets was almost
too much for his aroused state, and he couldn't help but press
his erection against the smooth, warm fabric, wishing it was
Jean-Luc beneath him.
"Here." Jean-Luc came back into his field of vision,
pressed a pillow beneath his head. "I'm going to hit you with my
riding crop now, and when you scream, I want you to scream into
the pillow. No use having security burst in on us, is there?"
He stroked a hand down Q's back, resting it gently against
his bare buttocks. Pain frightened Q, which was why Jean-Luc
subjected him to it. "Relax," Jean-Luc whispered, knowing it
would be impossible. "Wait for it."
Q wanted to obey, but he couldn't. He wanted it to be over
with or best yet, not to even have to think about it at all.
Waiting, he felt another hot rush of shame. He wasn't even
allowed to beg, and so was reduced to nothing: a set of nerve-
endings and physiological responses for Jean-Luc to manipulate at
will. Worst of all, even knowing how frightened he was, he still
wanted it, wanted to be a victim of Jean-Luc's love.
Abject and helpless, pinned to the bed by his own desire to
please, Q moaned into the pillow. Even though he was not using
his powers, he sensed Jean-Luc standing above him, waiting, and
with a supreme effort of will he managed to unclench his
buttocks.
"That's better." Jean-Luc approved. His voice was
somewhere above and behind him, and Q swallowed nervously.
"Only five times," Jean-Luc said, and brought the crop down
hard.
Q screamed, clutching the pillow as if it were a lifeline.
'Four more,' he chanted to himself, 'four more, just four more
and then he'll stop. Please, just four...' The crop came down
three more times, driving out thought. Q wailed helplessly and
started to sob. Somehow he ended up with the pillow over his
head, one fist still clutching the soft fabric, both fist and
fabric pressed against his mouth. He rolled over into a fetal
position, hiding not only from the pain but from his willingness
to endure it. It hurt. It hurt so much. Stop, Johnny, please.
He felt Jean-Luc's hand, gentle against his waist, heard
Jean-Luc's voice, and gulped down sobs, trying to concentrate.
"Only one more, Q. Turn over and allow me to finish."
Q turned over as fast as his injured body would allow.
Almost finished. 'That was four,' he thought and was momentarily
confused in his delirium of pain and lust. Was he waiting for
four, or had there been four already? But no, Johnny had said
one more. He stretched himself out and waited. When the blow
came, it was almost a pleasure. He had endured it, and Johnny
would be happy.
Q felt sad and elated all at once. He was still crying, but
with relief. He hated to appear vulnerable, and knew he must
look utterly debased; trembling, hair mussed, eyes swimming in
tears, but it was worth it when Jean-Luc came and sat beside him
and looked into his face.
Oh! Jean-Luc's face! That tender, possessive, even greedy
expression. The smooth, rolling voice flowing over and over him,
claiming him. "You're mine, Q." Jean-Luc nuzzled against his
ear, deliberately imitating Q's behavior. "You belong to me. Do
you hear me? Do you understand? Mine."
Q drew a deep shuddering breath and nodded. He couldn't
speak--if he tried, he would end up sobbing as if there were no
tomorrow--but he lived for that look, for those words. Peace and
contentment washed through him. His buttocks stung and throbbed,
but Jean-Luc was next to him, stroking his hair, and the universe
was perfect.
Eventually Picard stirred. "Kneel up," he said, and Q looked
at him in surprise.
"You said only five," Q objected.
Jean-Luc smiled. "And I meant it." His voice was a little
harder when he spoke again. "Get on your hands and knees!"
Q obeyed, but resentfully. He wanted to rest after this
cataclysm. Jean-Luc was making too many demands. His demeanor
became ostentatiously sulky, even though he knew Jean-Luc was
ignoring him.
Jean-Luc moved around behind Q. "You should see yourself,"
he said, lust thick in his voice. "There are little tiny drops
of blood where my crop opened the skin." He knelt down on the
bed, leaned over and took one of the drops on his tongue.
"Ohhh, Jean-Luc," Q sighed. He'd forgotten how aroused he'd
been only minutes earlier, but Jean-Luc's tongue on his ass was
all the reminder he needed. His penis hardened again almost
instantly as Jean-Luc stroked his way up one cheek and down the
other. "That feels so good."
By the time Jean-Luc worked his way around to the front of
his body, Q was almost there. When Jean-Luc swallowed him in one
smooth stroke, Q's head fell back and he clutched convulsively at
Jean-Luc's shoulders. Then, Jean-Luc reached around with both
hands, grasping Q's buttocks firmly where the welts still
throbbed. Pain grabbed him, convulsed him, and yanked him over
the edge. He made a sound he could not identify, but it grew
louder and louder before ending in a series of sharp, staccato
shrieks.
Jean-Luc swallowed until there was nothing left, then he lay
back on the bed, eyes glittering.
"What about you?" Q asked. He reached tentatively towards
Jean-Luc's still-hard penis, but Jean-Luc stopped him, a strange,
small smile crossing his features.
"I don't want to."
Q was surprised, then all the shame and humiliation he'd
felt surged forward, pushed by unreasoning anger. "So that's
it?" he asked after a moment. "Break Q down, while you remain
aloof?"
Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed. "You wanted every minute of it."
Q's smile was quietly venomous. He knew Jean-Luc would feel
a surge of fear and that gratified him. "Not fair, Johnny," he
warned in an ominous singsong.
"It's perfectly fair," Jean-Luc protested, but his eyes grew
wide. He'd seen Q in this mood before, but pride wouldn't let
him back down. "Afraid of a little vulnerability, are we?
You're an omnipotent immortal for god's sake. How about a little
bravery, Q? A little honesty?"
"Oh? A challenge?" The memory of his weakness infuriated
Q. He couldn't believe how much of himself he'd abandoned just
for a taste of that pallid emotion humans called love. It galled
him that Jean-Luc could so easily exploit his vulnerability, and
in that moment he forgot his gratitude in a singular desire to
see Jean-Luc broken in kind.
He crawled up the bed and took Jean-Luc in his arms. Jean-
Luc stiffened, but Q's human form was stronger, and he did not
let go. "You know," he whispered menacingly, "I'll get you for
this."
"I know you'll try," Jean-Luc answered evenly, "but trust is
a dangerous thing. You know I trust you not to hurt me," he
said, "and you *won't* hurt me." He tilted his chin up. "Will
you?"
Q's arms got tighter and Picard had to force himself not to
struggle. Q put his lips down next to Jean-Luc's ear. "Perhaps
not. But you don't know that for certain, do you, Captain? And
there are ways of hurting you without violating trust." His arms
tightened even further, and despite himself Jean-Luc began to try
to push him away. The squeezing arms became like a vise,
crushing him. Jean-Luc gasped in pain, then suddenly there was a
flash of light and Q disappeared, leaving behind his dangerous
promise. "You'll see me soon, Johnny."
End